Clumsy Waltz
by Ludraca
Summary: Sometimes things you try to fix, wind up falling apart even more. You're such a bad machine Johnny.
1. Prologue

A/N: right so before I start I wanna rant about how I hate rating fics in this fandom! For Christ's sake it's a JTHM fic, I think all of us here are mature enough to read the word fuck and not freak out. Which is why I think I should be able to rate this fic **G** for general audiences. I will say fuck, maybe not a lot but it will be used, along with other colourful expletives. Suck it up and don't report me for being sensible

Disclaimer: Jhonen owns JTHM and my soul

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**A Clumsy Waltz**

Throughout our lives it is apparent to even the thickest individual that it is our desires that drive our every action. At first this process of living seems to be selfish and driven from nothing but animalistic instinct, and it seems this way because it's true. Humankind is only able to pursue their desires, governed by their emotional aspiration and physical longing. Some could argue that these desires can be for altruistic reasons, but even in these mostly rare circumstances there is still a selfish center to the action. Like an apple rotten in the center, you don't know it's bad unless you take a bite and see it for yourself. Most people don't take bites, they judge the apple from it's bright ruddy surface and pass it by as if it were up to par.

What graceless fools humans are.

Nothing but a clumsy waltz wherein the dancers twirl by each other and gaze upon the splendor of each other's shells, flitting about and never staying long enough to see beyond the pretty masks. Their activities are limited only to their instinct

Hungry hungry I need food…

Thirsty thirsty I must drink…

Sleepy sleepy I will rest…

Horny horny I want sex…

Angry angry I shall kill…

They hold such power over us, these emotions, desires.

It all seems so…poetic

The failure of life

The emptiness

Better than a gothic elegy.

Such amusing things, these feelings. The control they have over us.

Attempts to rid oneself of them are met only with the contemptuous laughter of God. He knows that these are chains that he himself forged and locked upon us. The key to these locks is only death, God made it that way on purpose

Bastard.

I know this first hand. I've tried to hard…it's not as if I'm saying I myself am above these feelings, no. It seems that I too often succumb to these little irritating detours

I can tell what you are thinking.

" Frowning upon us who are slaves to ourselves, while you yourself are just as human as we are, you have no right. You even said it yourself"

Fools!

Alas but I do have the right!

Maybe I have the same skin as you idiots, but within my chest my soul knows the truth…

Heh, it's funny really

You know…many times poets will make truth synonymous with light, how pretty.

How…profound!

I assure you however that the truth is anything but bright.

In fact it is very dark.

There are only a few who know the truth, I've yet to meet anyone else who has realized the fault of nature, but maybe that's because I myself am submerged in this Urban sludge called a city. Here the selfish actions seem to collect like clouds over passersby, as if the sky is feeding off the feelings and making the world as black as it's food.

I cannot prove any atmospheric conspiracy, but I know it's there. At least, it's quite probable, certainly not impossible.

I digress, that seems to be quite typical of my nature, so I do ask you to forgive me. After all I am only trying to give you the gift of the truth. That is my purpose, and so I must serve it.

Such ironic word choice…ah, again I digress.

Perhaps an explanation as to how I came to be in such a state of mind is in order here. I scarcely remember a time in which I was ignorant…and happy so I will not start there

You know… awareness brings only grief, it will never give you joy, only sorrow.

A fool is better off than anyone, because all he sees is his natural desire, and nothing beyond it. No other path that could lead him astray into the black woods.

I'm here today to make you all miserable.

One day you'll all thank me.

It's all so disgusting, so sad, and yet…so true.

Filthy truth.

Dirty truth.

Nasty, dirty, filthy truth.

It's times like this, when I recollect on the utter despondency of the world that I wish I could just shutdown.

And I can assure you that I would, except… I seem to be under the delusion that I am the anchor point of the universe. If I go I'll take you all into oblivion with me.

A little tidbit that Satan disclosed to me…

Ah the thoughts of a psycho!

hehe

It's so lovely to feel as though you are holding the world hostage.

Well, slap me on a cross and call me Jesus!

It seems I AM your savoir. (1)

Oh yes, an explanation. I had nearly forgotten, my mind does that sometimes. It's rather clumsy, much like those who waltz through their lives, remember? the ones I told you about. But enough metaphors. It's time for some factual history.

I suppose it's best if I start where it all began.

My little "heaven house"

TBC

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(1) I'm going to hell for that 

A/N: No this is NOT going to be a retarded narrative oneshot. It was _going _to be but now it's not! I decided that it shall be a chapter fic and that it will also be in the third person until I decide to change it again. It's my story and I can do what I want

Please review (even if you hate my words)and feed my ego monster, reviews help me write


	2. Once Upon a Time

_A/N: I changed my mind again, it's staying in first person until I randomly give the signal._

_Mmyep. It's just easier this way, cause then I don't have to explain stuff. _

_I'm so evil, I make Satan look like a girl scout. _

_Anyone want cookies? _

_Uh, anyhow, this fic has no plot as of yet. I really mean that too. I'm just pulling this shit outta my ass._

_Anyhow, on with da mentally subverted fun_

**Disclaimer:**_ seriously Jhonen, suing me would only get you a weird fanatic as a new permanent appendage. Cause I'ma hug you bitch. Anyhow, I don't own JTHM obviously, I only exploit it's characters_

Chapter One: Once Upon a Time

I don't know WHEN it all went wrong, exactly. I couldn't tell you at what point my little "escapades" ceased being for my own unknown purposes and became the functions of servitude to that _wall creature_.

After all, I was still having fun and was foolish enough not to realize that anything was amiss.

Sure, I was still suicidal at times, I admit I was…unbalanced

I'm better now.

I acted like such a person…true, a psychotic and angry person, but still a person. Yet I waved my little freak flag so _proudly_, I actually thought I was making a difference.

How _foolish_.

But I changed…

IT changed me.

So I don't know if I should thank that creature or hate it

I think I'll hate it. Hating things is easier. Besides, I was still its slave, and I really don't appreciate that.

It's times like these when I think I actually know WHAT that creature was.

Work with me here.

That _thing_, that _monster_, was, if you will, a physical manifestation of my own sickness.

I had been killing people for so long the essence attached itself to that wretched little house. The stench of death clung to the walls and swirled together and formed that monster. It feed off me, what I did to create it also sustained it.

It's like the digging of one's own grave in a sense.

But then, it all went away. I can actually remember that day. That's a rather large achievement for me I'm sad to say.

Ah, but I felt so free. Everything was so light. And in a scary way I felt alive (Not in a literal sense, though that does apply. But in more of a metaphorical sense.)

Completely unburdened. I faced death, I died! But I was still alive.

I braved the afterlife like some kind of hero! An epic conqueror of sorts. I saw the shit that was mucking up the universe, and I returned to tell the tale.

Sure, it might've all just been a really stupid dream…but you must remember I'm insane, so it makes no difference. Dreams or reality, it's all the same.

My head hurts.

Now, what was I getting to? Oh yes. My little house.

Well, after certain events involving a weird stalker guy with some serious mental issues and character defects, I decided it was high time for me to take a little break. Homicidal maniac can be a stressful job.

I think that leaving the house was the final burden I dropped. I just, packed up some "gear" into my car and drove away. I don't think I even looked back.

I didn't know where I was going, but I knew I was in a hurry to get there.

That's how it is sometimes.

It makes you feel important.

But enough about you.

So, I sort of just, wandered. Like a samurai in one of those old Japanese movies.

Romantic in a way, only I seemed to lack the honor they hold so dear.

I mean, just because I was away from work didn't mean it didn't follow me around.

Like an executive with a cell phone glued to his ear. The bullshit was inescapable.

And the call to kill stupid pathetic assholes was just too loud. A ring tone far too annoying to ignore.

Ode to Joy.

Ack! Such a badly constructed metaphor. I shudder at my lack of eloquence.

All that aside however, I still had my own version of fun to occupy myself with. Killing people never loses its luster (or at least it didn't _then_). And with no more wall monster I knew that it was all for me. All the blood, tears, and screams. All mine.

And in a way I felt more complete than I ever had before.

Contentment is a wondrous thing.

The raising of a weapon. Sharp or blunt it didn't matter. The feeling of my heart pumping blood in the rush of feeling when I would look into my victim's pleading eyes. The swooping feeling of euphoria when I struck down. The loud crack of bones, music to my ears, and I would be quickly bathed in blood.

Oh, I do so detest blood. But, it's the symbolic part of the blood spatter that I cannot help but adore.

Amazingly, I still was never caught.

I always found that very strange. At first I just attributed it to the house. After all, it just seemed natural that it would be a safe haven, all things considered.

But I was free, on my own. Like a boy going off to school for the first time. Torn away from his parents. I was unguarded, and yet I remained unscathed. I defied the law at every turn.

Maybe I should change my last name to Yuma. (1)

Ah humor.

But the holiday wasn't all fun and games. No.

In fact, it's the holiday itself that made me distance myself even more from humanity.

I've seen some pretty disgusting things in my life, but the cities I wandered through grew progressively worse. There were less and less humans and more and more people. People are vile, repulsive. They never think, they do what their instinct says. Humans are better, I like them more. I had a few human friends before. They slip away from my recollection.

But none of that is important.

The point I'm trying to make is that I was trapped in a downward spiral. A whirlpool of excrement I could not escape.

Everywhere I looked, there was either a drugged-up bum occupying that patch of sidewalk, or some strumpet with far too much makeup on. Degenerates as far as the eye could see…and not the good kind of degenerates either.

I had to constantly fight with the urge to eradicate them all. I knew it wouldn't be worth it though. It seemed like that for every one I killed, three more of their kind took their place. An endless cycle I was not ready to contribute to. It made the killing dull.

And that's when I hit rock bottom. Well, no, maybe that's not the proper term. I was _already _at rock bottom. I guess that's when life really became hell. Beyond the bottom.

Yeah, much better…only not.

You see, it was then when I came to the worst city yet. It made me shudder as soon as I entered the city limits. The buildings towered dismally over me, and though the streets were bustling with noise, it all sounded muted somehow. Like my head had been pushed underwater.

It was in this city that the truth became painfully clear to me.

TBC

_End Note: I suck_

_I think I might have a plot now, but I lost my control over Nny's brain. Which may or may not be a good thing. _

_Mmyep. _

_A review or two would be nice. Though I won't demand it. Just know the less feedback I get, the crappier the story will be._

_(1) A big hug to anyone who got that little joke. I was referring to the song "The Rebel Johnny Yuma" by Johnny Cash. In a sick twisted way it makes me think of Nny._


	3. There Are Places I Remember

_A/N: Well, this is for all the fans of this story, all two of you. Hmm, I think that was in one of Jhonen's comics. My brain! I shudder at my lack of creativity!_

_I think I might've said that before…_

_You see, that's my problem right there!_

_My mind is looping, I hate my life, oh Christ, angst! I need to kill something_

_Alright I'm back, poor little ants. Anyhow, this chappie will be a bit different seeing as it's going to go into third person, only not really. I'm lying._

_Sorry about how confusing this chapter will be._

_Disclaimer: If I owned JTHM that would make me Jhonen, which means I'd kidnap myself and therefore could not write this. Also it would mean I'd have some badass drawing skills and a cracked out mind of insanity. Plus a bee suit._

_I own none of those things.

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Chapter Two: There Are Places I Remember

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As I've said, the city itself made me shudder. This in and of itself is no small feet. After all, when one is a homicidal maniac being squeamish just kind of seems odd, and the feeling tends to elude you.

I suppose it was…a premonition in a way. My subconscious mind reacting to the treachery that would soon befall it.

Of course I ignored the feeling, partly because it was a _feeling_ and also because soon after that little wave of fear I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. Like I had been here before. The streets I walked seemed imprinted in my brain and I actually knew where I was going. I _never_ know where I'm going, but this time I did. Even though I wasn't going anywhere at all.

So very strange. It was like I had spent years in this city.

But that's stupid. It's almost nostalgic, and regression to such a foolish thing such as that is indicative of a poor mind. I try to think higher of myself than that.

My feet were acting of their own accord by now, and when I finally chose to look up I saw I was in front of a 24/7.

A brainfreezy sounded like a good idea, so I went in.

Heh

Like a domino starting a chain reaction until the entire row falls.

Damn my urge for cheery freezies. Damn it straight to hell.

Forgive me, I feel I should be more detailed in this encounter than I have been previously. If this seems strange and startles you then that makes you stupid.

I'll come and kill you in a bit.

Let me see now.

I walked in and I was heading for the brainfreezy machine when I heard someone yell something dreadfully rude. Now, at first I believed the comment was directed at myself, after all I seem to be a magnet for malicious behavior.

The words are like fucking paperclips!

Anyhow, office supplies aren't a necessary topic of discussion. Where was I? oh, right.

So, I spun around, fully prepared to go off on one of my little informational rants and end the evening with killing everyone in the store and not getting my brainfreezy (it's sad really) when I saw I was not the subject of their persecution.

Now, you'd think I would have just left it at that. After all, they're weren't bothering with me. They were just two teenagers who looked like they thought they were punks. Their brand new _Green Day_ shirts and faux-hawks were such amazing proof of their rebelliousness. But you see, I just can't leave well enough alone. I mean, it would only be a matter of time before they left their current victim and turned to me for release of their petty aggression.

Curiously I craned my head and looked past them at their unfortunate prey.

Of course.

Their victim fit the "weak freak" stereotype amazingly well. The boy had a rather small stature, very frail looking. His clothes hung off him two sizes too big; the black fabric worn and faded from too many washes, clearly the state of his clothes screamed for him to be ridiculed. It would be a sin not to. In fact, his very being projected a sense of submission and fright.

Dogs can smell that kind of fear, no wonder the poor child was being subjected to such behavior.

I could tell he was trying to defend himself against the sharp barbs of their words and the violent shoves they treated him to. But it was useless. It was like trying to chop down a tree with a feather, an impossible task for someone currently blinded by their own tears.

You know, all I needed to do was step forward and deliver two swipes with the knife I could feel so distinctly in my boot and it would all be over.

But I kept watching a little longer as I awaited that final straw that would allow me to begin my berserk blitzkrieg and eliminate two more idiots from the population.

And then I had that feeling again; no, not the feeling of foreboding, nor nostalgia, but the one of being shoved underwater. Everything moved so slowly, fluidly. But I heard their words acutely, and they were so unoriginal too. That's one thing that never changes, the extremely low intellectual category that insults fall into.

"Queer!"

Of course

"Fuck face"

Ah, a classic

"Emo fag"

Emo?

"Faggot butt"

Oh now you're just getting redundant.

"Wacky freak"

_What?_

Yeah, he said it…that word. That ass lancing word. Oh how I **HATE** that word! I hate it like you would never believe! Well, that was the final straw then wasn't it? All the water disappeared immediately at that word, like a vacuum sucked it all up, short circuited and electrocuted my body into a jump-start of beautifully pure rage.

And it was then that I took action.

_Swipe, swipe, thud, thud, splatter, splatter._

Anticlimactic? Very.

Effective? Of course.

Mission accomplished I suppose. After all, in all of five seconds I managed to extinguish two wastes of skin _and _coat myself and an innocent bystander in the disgusting red fluid called blood. It all felt so refreshing. But it was all just…too easy. So simple. It made me realize again just how delicate a human really is.

I shook the feeling off. No point in mourning those who do not deserve it.

It just amazes how such people can actually exist in the first place.

Maybe they're all put on the planet JUST to annoy me. Like God was bored and decided it'd be funny to fuck with my life. But such a large scale scheme seemed a bit too crazy even for me at the moment, so I stopped my musings on the subject.

To distract myself I turned to that innocent bystander I mentioned.

You know the one.

Poor kid.

I mean, I wasn't even _excessive_, but by the look on his face you would've thought I had ripped out their spines and tugged until their brains were yanked from their skulls which I had previously smashed open in the back with some blunt instrument.

I mean…I've DONE that, but I didn't this time. I was mild. Kind even!

His face was priceless though. You could tell he would've fainted, but he was too scared.

Jesus, how annoying! Not him, but the trauma!

Why can't I ever get through a day without traumatizing someone? I don't even try to you know.

It just comes naturally to me.

Kind of like making toast. You don't burn it on purpose...

It just happens.

A talent if you will.

How funny, his eye started twitching. The face seemed familiar somehow, all covered in blood and scared like that. But just different enough to slip through the rather large holes in my memory.

It seemed a little rude of me to stare at someone I had just helped out.

So I graced him with a rather twisted smile. Happily I grinned, I felt the corners of my mouth pull up and make my eyes slant slightly as I bared practically all my teeth.

I suppose my smile could have been interpreted as "sinister". Not that I was intending to convey such a thing…it's that toast concept again.

So with that smile and a polite half bow I left. Freezie-less, bloody, but in rather high spirits.

Who says trauma doesn't do a body good? Well, the body not afflicted by it that is.

I felt rather content as I left the 24/7 and began to wander around again, however the sense of déjà vu returned as I wandered those filthy streets, the feeling tattooing itself into the base of my skull, causing my good mood to evaporate quickly.

If it's not one thing it's another.

Someone out there just doesn't want me to be happy.

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TBC

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_A/N: Did I cop out in the end of this chapter? You bet your sweet ass I did! Yay!_

_God, I'm sick of trying to fabricate a storyline, failing miserably, then drinking V8 juice till I get sick and forget all about it. It's really not fair!_

_Anyhow, I promise the plot will pick up from here, and I apologize for the lack of anything good or interesting at all in this installment. I'm afraid my character introductions needs some work. (yes that means the trauma boy will return..w00t?) Anyhow I won't tell you what's going on, cause I'm an asshole like that._

_I need to switch into third person. Nny is getting tired of being in my head and is threatening to bust his way out. So it's either, write him better or kill myself. I'm leaning towards the latter._

_Oh well. My neck hurts as I write this._

_Good day...eh night? Shit.

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_

_Anyhow, leave a comment/review if you want. Suggestions are always gratefully accepted. Criticism is always nice too._


	4. Full Circle

_A/N: My god…I have no Idea what to write. By the way these first notes are always written before I start the story. Neat huh? Right, so expect a rather retarded chapter containing a sort of substance resembling a popsicle after you leave it in the sun for a prolonged period of time. For that is my brain as of late. _

_Disclaimer: Really now Mister Vasquez, I'll stop doing this if you tell me to, but until you actually come to my house and risk losing your ability to leave, I shall keep this up._

_P.S. I've been watching Gankutsuou a lot, it's a wonderful and, if I may say rather amazing, anime based on the plot of The Count of Monte Cristo (an equally great book). Check it out if you get the chance, and if you like anime. Even if you don't it's worth watching, the animation quality is outstanding. That was my rant, and probably no one actually read that._

_**The point being**__, I've been influenced by that, so if this chapter seems a little different from the others in style that's the reason. It's called __**a personal disclaimer**__, so deal with it._

**Chapter Three: Full Circle**

Sometimes it's hard to believe that the proverbial wheel has come full circle. Sometimes you just want to keep believing that you control your own life, that you are not in fact condemned to anything that the heavens might have planned for you. However, we must all realize that in this world coincidence is something that does not exist. Everything that happens is meant to happen for one inane reason or another. It's called Fate.

And no matter how much you cry, no matter how loud you scream, or how desperately you pray, there is no avoiding it.

It's all set in stone.

You could try to run from it, like I myself did. Such an ignoble choice on my part I admit.

I suppose I am a coward.

I actually thought my own will could control my destiny, that I was in control.

But I have never been in control, have I?

And my running away only succeeded in making this fate even more tormenting. My vacation has just been one bullet after another straight into my skull.

The chambers were empty now, all but one.

The last round, the pull of the trigger,

Giving way to the finale.

Not that I'm actually dying. Death would be so much more enjoyable. Yes, there are things far worse than death.

The overwhelming feeling of despair, the sort of sadness that will never depart. Bequeath unto a person once they lose what they hold the most dear.

That, is what is worse than death.

But then, what have **I** to lose? I've spent so long to detach myself from emotion.

Like one of those silk flowers. They never look as good as the real ones, but they will also never rot away.

They just exist; without sun, water, or soil.

A pathetic imitation that lasts longer than the original but without any of the luster.

It's sad in a way, to compare myself to such a thing.

And then I came to realize, the thing I have to lose, is my humanity (my sanity long since lost).

But isn't that what I wanted? I wanted to be different, to not be one of those pathetic little fleas. At what cost though? How far am I…was I ready to go?

And so the wheel has come full circle.

Here I am.

Back "home".

In the same fucking city I tried to leave behind me!

But I was fated to return, and face what I had left behind.

I thought I had burned those bridges.

And we all know that when you burn a bridge you're supposed to move forward and never look back.

I guess the flames of my hatred were not strong enough to destroy this wretched place.

It took me a while to realize where I was. Bit by bit it returned to me, my memories triggered by each passing building and each stinging insult thrown my way. And like some horribly cliché story line, I was thrown into this cesspool once more.

I had been in the city for _three days_ before I found out where the hell I was. And each night had been, as always, a sleepless one.

Normally I experience no fatigue from my insomnia, however since I came here it began to take its toll. Nights once devoted to roaming the streets in search of vermin, were now spent sprawled across a motel chair or floor or whatever it was that was closest at the time. As I lay there I could feel my body ache and groan and plead for sleep. My mind however was stubborn and did not grant the body true slumber. So while my body rested, useless to me, I was left alone to my thoughts. My eyes permanently unclosed as I pondered.

It is a scary thing indeed, the feeling of being mortal.

For you see, when one does not sleep, one does not dream, that does not mean however that the mind is not inclined to wander during the wee hours of the night.

He he, wee hours.

And while I was thinking my brain brought to surface many things. The various people I've murdered, all faceless and all resembling each other. All the exact same piles of shit.

That was fine, the relived violence was no problem for me to deal with, it was my nature, my essence. Each beat of my heart secreted red hot blood that reach every fiber of my being and screamed kill, kill, kill, kill, ki—

Then things got…worse.

The mind ran out of deaths to replay, and began to bring up those troublesome things called memories, brought back from the grave by my current surroundings.

And the people in these memories had distinguishing faces, nameless still in the faded corners of my brain, yet each face was assigned a different meaning and a _feeling_.

Disgusting.

Not only did I remember what was lost, but also how much it truly affected me.

It reminded me that even though I'd like to believe my heart was stone cold, the very core was still red and warm and receptive to emotions.

I wasn't removed yet, and this was not helping my apathy.

The city was like a microwave, warming my heart from the inside out.

And everyone knows that when you leave something in a microwave for too long it will, eventually, explode.

Just how long will it be until I explode then? Ah, there's the rub…

Oh but anyhow, three days right. Three days of ignorance, then I came to know where I was and have this river of shit flood back into my brain, succeeding in completely mucking it up.

Now, some of you may be asking how exactly this began, again? Well if you had been paying any attention at all you would already know the answer to this.

But I know many of you are slow, so I'll explain it. It's called a story within a story or a flashback side trip thing, and people do it all the time.

Soooo!

It was a dark and stormy night. Except that is was daytime…and bright out because it was sunny. Other than that though, it was a VERY dark and stormy night.

I was leaving the Motel Hell (1) I was currently residing in to go to the 24/7 and get the brainfreezy that was so unjustly denied to me a few days beforehand.

All things considered my spirits were rather lofty.

Then I got that feeling, you know, the one where you think you're being watched. That feeling of someone's eyes trying to drill into the base of your skull to sever your spine, effectively paralyzing you.

Now, I've been stalked before, and needless to say it did not end pleasantly. Quite frankly I really wasn't ready to go through some rube's idiotic worshiping of my mental issues again, so I just hoped I was imagining being followed.

Wouldn't be the first time I fabricated an entity.

There is of course, only one way to know something for sure.

One must, see it to believe it, as the old saying goes. Though I tend to doubt the validity of that claim. For now however the adage will suffice.

So I leaned back on my heel and spun around to face what was probably nothing more than someone who would rather not be walking behind me while they were going off to the important place they needed to be because they were a condescending mortal who could never understand the complexity of the 12 dollar Lattes that they drink, let alone the inner machinations of the human mind or the….oh, never mind.

It was all very dramatic, and cinematic, and any other words with the suffix 'matic' that you might want to add.

I found myself, not facing some horribly malfunctioning clone of myself, but instead a timid boy who seemed vaguely familiar. It was in the eyes, or rather what wasn't in the eyes. Those eyes seemed so empty and sad, and I had the feeling that, were I to look in a mirror I'd find the same expression in my own eyes. Why, it was enough to break my heart. But my heart didn't, couldn't break, and dwelling on something that didn't happen can lead only to nostalgic idiocies and probable decapitation.

Not to mention extreme digression and useless space filling words that have absolutely nothing to do with the plotline, or the overall theme that is trying to be related to the audience; this is a tactic authors use quite frequently in order to avoid any substantial thought processes, and also to procrastinate the development of the story, the future outcome of which they have no idea will be. And so forced to ramble is the author, in a petty attempt to distract the readers and defer logical story building .

This tactic, of course, always fails.

I really must stop allowing my mind to do as it wishes.

Allow me to relay to you the dialogue that took place.

I began by smiling quite sociably (albeit a little spooky), something I rarely choose to do, and greeted the child with a simple

"Hello."

Until this point the young drone in training seemed to be hardly aware that I had acknowledged him, let alone the fact that I was looking 

right at him. He jerked slightly and, as if by a habit developed over many years of being dominated by others, adverted his gaze to the ground. In a way I was grateful, his eyes as I've mentioned were very disconcerting, like the blacked out eyes of an infant.

Then he slumped his shoulders and pointed his toes inwards like some kind of ritualistic pose that must be made before talking to anyone, lest something disastrous occur due to being neglectful.

It was obvious to me that these little 'nervous tics' were brought on by the subconscious need to be seen as conciliatory in all situations in order to avoid conflict, and at the same time provide a beginning stance should the need arise to curl into a defensive fetal position.

But I am no psychologist, and all this is based on pure speculation on my humble part. It's not like I'm omnipotent, feh, not even _God_ is all knowing.

Oh…this was supposed to be a progressive recollection of a dialogue, wasn't it? Forgive me, I must be getting senile. Damn it all to hell, I'm too young to be losing my mind…wait…I guess I already lost my mind. Umm…okay, you get what I mean.

Anyhow, by this point I realized where I had seen him before. It was the same kid I helped out a few days previously.

How lovely, I thought. After all, usually when I meet people they're not around long enough to bump into again. Why, this must be what it's like to have a friend!

Well, maybe not quite.

And so lost amongst my musings over whether this child constituted as a friend or not, I almost missed his reply. Which came out in I'm sure coherent words, but the sentence was caught up in the sound of the city and was carried away before I myself could hear them.

I was about to ask him if he would kindly repeat what he had said, when the city fell away.

Now…normally I'm not one to hallucinate things, and that's what this was, a hallucination.

After all, there's no REAL way that thirty-four story bank over there could possibly be floating off into the atmosphere. Right?

I wonder why banks need such large buildings.

Once the debris from the city spun off and gave way to nothing but empty darkness (much like the kind you would find in a Goth poem) I found myself standing on the one bit of sidewalk that remained. And in front of me I saw all those people I had been remembering as of late, and like the missing pieces in a jigsaw puzzle they all clicked in place.

For the first time in ages, I _truly_ remembered something.

Everything.

And I wished to God I hadn't.

Because I now knew what all of this, this abnormality in my daily life, what it all meant.

Sometimes, it's hard to believe that the proverbial wheel has come full circle.

And so I was left all alone again, to drown in the memories I had tried so hard to obliterate.

**TBC**

_A/N: Arrrrrrgh! Sorry, that came out really lame and I lied all over the place with this chapter. Not to mention I made Nny out to be a major drama llama. I fail._

_Anyhow, don't hate me, I PROMISE that next time I will do better._

_But this chapter was…I guess necessary._

_I think Devi will come in later on, just to warn any Devi despisers that may come across this._

_I love you my two readers, don't leave me._

_(1) It was that or Motel Sex, which I didn't care for, so don't hate me._


	5. Long Time No See

_A/N: I cut my mouth on juice today…I don't know how that works. I don't think I wanna know._

_Shit…I'm being a drama llama in this chapter again. I'm going to shoot myself with a bubble gun. It's a lot of fun._

_Disclaimer: Listen here Vasquez, you try and sue me and I'll make you drink my deadly juice. I don't care if you're God, the fucking bad art collection made me retarded! And though I cannot stay mad at you, I also will not hesitate to force this here juice on you._

**Chapter Four: Long Time No See**

As I found myself lost in this inky black pit of despair, and as every fatal memory finally settled down into the slots they were intended to occupy but never before felt the need to acknowledge, I heard myself draw in a single breath.

That one intake of air sounded louder than even my own heavily beating heart, which by this point was set on such an extreme pace I feared it might over heat.

Looks like the microwave was about the blow it up after all. What a mess.

And the breath, like some sort of vacuum cleaner, sucked the city back in place.

It all came back in a blurred manner. Instead of floating like when they left, the buildings and people fell at impossible speeds. Crashing violently back into the unfortunate reality that was controlled by me.

I almost felt sorry for them, to be stuck in this mad little world of mine. But the fact that these very people do whatever they can to disrupt my reality makes any feeling of remorse I might entertain disappear rather quickly.

Let them rot in this hell I've created, and then let them suffer once I send them off to the real thing.

But that makes me sound bitter now doesn't it?

Then as every piece of the puzzle came back together, the wind came again and allowed me to hear the words that were spoken previously by the child who was once again before me, as if no time had passed at all.

I felt like laughing to myself or maybe at myself at those two very simple words

"Thank you."

God, when was the last time anyone's ever thanked me? Not even those convenience store cashiers who are _paid_ to say 'thank you and have a nice day', ever say that to me.

It was just something that didn't happen. As if the world knew what I did. As if the entire fucking population was secretly aware and made some sort of silent vow to never thank me because I didn't deserve it in the first place. Because I have never said an I'm sorry, and I've never expected an I forgive you, so it was decided that no courtesies should ever be expressed if they were to never be received.

Well, fuck them.

But then here was this child, thanking me for committing the greatest sin imaginable. Last time I checked, manslaughter wasn't something on the 'To be thankful for' list.

At least, you wouldn't hear any pastors adding it to their nightly prayers any time soon.

But I suppose a victim's opinion concerning the death of his tormentors is bound to be different than that of some uninvolved self-righteous activist's.

People like that have no right to judge what's wrong and what isn't.

It's so funny how society functions.

Following along the rules and guidelines of people who rarely ,if ever, know what it feels like to be on these streets. They don't see the tears, the blood, the pain, the dirt…they are incapable.

If there is any truth in this world, it is that murder is almost always justified.

And that's a fact.

I wanted to laugh, because for the first time in a long time I was finally in a situation that was funny. Fate could have such a lovely sense of humor when she wanted to.

So I really, really wanted to laugh…but deep down, I knew I couldn't.

Deep down, I knew that if I tried nothing would come out.

Because I'm empty, and I have no laughter inside of me.

I can't even remember the last time I smiled.

Not one of those crooked twisted smirks of mine either.

I mean…a real smile.

The kind of smile that's so warm with joy that it cracks your face and shatters the layers of ice that had gathered there.

No, I can't remember a smile like that.

Either because I am just incapable of remembering, or maybe because I've always been incapable of doing.

I really might have never smiled.

There's always, always been something behind my smiles. Always something there to hold back the warmth that makes it a smile. But I was so numb from the cold, I guess I never really noticed.

It's not like it really matters though.

That I can't smile, that I can't laugh.

Because in the end, it will always get taken away from me. And that just makes the sadness deeper. Better to hold onto nothing, that way you never lose your grip.

But now I'm just being depressing aren't I? Fook, I sound like D-Boy for god's sake.

So to distract myself, I decided to pick up a conversation with the boy; after all, if engaged properly and with the right kind of person, a conversation can be a pleasant thing.

Not a conversation comprised of screams, begging and curses. No, simply words. Real words.

"They picked on you a lot didn't they?"

First rule of conversation making, find some common ground. This tends to work 97 of the time. The other 3 is when you're dealing with someone who's been lobotomized, in which case conversation is mostly futile.

So he nodded…and while body language is useful, it does nothing to fuel a nice conversation. Such a pity, talking isn't quite my strong point either…at least not when it comes to people that exist outside of the imaginary realm.

I didn't have much else to say, so I just leaned back on my heels and looked around awkwardly.

I was just pondering on where I had see this boy before, because I just knew I've seen him a long time ago. And the memory was there…but I couldn't summon it up. Stupid brain, never listens to a damn thing I say. But my musings were cut short again by his words.

"Umm, my name's Todd" He said as he held out his hand.

Bingo.

I grinned as I took the offered hand in greeting

"Todd? I like Squee better."

How could I have forgotten such big eyes? And at the moment they were as large as dinner plates, blinking in confusion, his mouth agape.

It looked funny, even better than the other day when I once again traumatized him.

He was in quite a bit-o-shock at my reply.

"N-no one's called me that in years…how do—who ARE you?"

Oh I see how it is, I forget about people and they forget about me.

Well, to be fair, I guess that I'm the kind of person who leaves memories you'd want to suppress.

Poor Squeegee, looks like you haven't changed much at all. I don't know if I should count that as a good thing or a bad thing.

Such sad eyes though. Eyes unbefitting for a child.

"You mean to tell me you don't remember?"

"I'm sorry…but I really don't know who you are."

"Then allow me to introduce myself. My name's Johnny, but you can call me Nny."

His mouth then turned down and his face formed a depressed, pensive look; one I myself have worn on many occasions.

"Squee? Squeegee? You ok?" I waved a hand in front of his field of vision, he shook his head and came back into the same plane of reality I was occupying.

I always envy people that can do that, just get lost in themselves.

Forget everything and hide.

They have their own little world they can go into whenever they please, and just leave the rest of us behind…alone and forgotten.

Then he looked up and me, and he smiled.

Now I ask you, have you ever meet someone who's smile hurt to watch?

I mean…I'm sure his smile was genuine, but there was pain behind it, pain from years of suffering. How is it though, that his pain does not affect the warmth of his smile? It all just seemed so hypocritical to me.

Maybe I'm just jealous or more likely little Squee listened to what I said to him, about not letting the world get to him.

Could it be that I actually did something good in my life?

That's a scary thought.

Though, I'm curious Squeegee, just what sort of person have you become? Have you stayed the same this whole time? Or did you grow into some other sort of person entirely?

Are you now filled with hatred for this world like me?

Are you on the verge of becoming a monster and eating people?

Or are you about to be eaten?

TBC

_A/N: Holy. Shit._

_ALL of this was supposed to happen TWO chapters ago. By now this fic should have ended._

_I'm super sorry I'm dragging this out. It really shouldn't be much longer than three more chapters kay guys? _

_I know nothing really happened again._

_But the next chapter's gunna have the climax of this story if you can believe that, so put up with me._

_Oh and I know Johnny contradicts himself a lot in this story, but he does in the actual book, so I don't really care about any incongruence. _

_Once again, thanks goes out to all the silly people who are nice enough to read this._

_Please leave a review, I love suggestions! _


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